


Already Tried a Kick in the Ass

by Gang_Aft_Agley



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Chuck Hansen Needs a Hug, Even if he is a dick, Multi, lots of snuggles, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 04:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gang_Aft_Agley/pseuds/Gang_Aft_Agley
Summary: Even after …. well, after everything, when he by all rights should have been able to relax, Chuck Hansen still radiated wariness and readiness, muscles coiled and ready to spring. Honestly, he looked like a high-tensile wire, needing only the slightest pressure to snap.Raleigh frowned slightly, and leaned closer to Herc, keeping his voice low.“Does your kidevertake a load off?” Hansen Sr. rolled his eyes.“I’m not sure he knows how.”Mako, listening from Raleigh’s other side, nudged him in the ribs; he turned to her, one eyebrow raised. She nodded, and he turned back to Herc, having received an answer to his unspoken question.“Mind if we give it a try, sir?” Herc blinked, more than a little suspicious.“What did you have in mind?” Raleigh’s lips twitched, as did Mako’s.“Well, sir, I already tried a kick in the ass.”





	Already Tried a Kick in the Ass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentawe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentawe/gifts).



First, there was what had to be the longest and most thorough decontamination shower in human history.

When Chuck voiced this sentiment aloud, Marshal Pentecost called over from the next stall that this was _nothing_ compared to the one after that last battle in Coyote Tango, and did he _really_ want to get into a dick-measuring contest over goddamn decontamination showers of all things?

Chuck emphatically did not want that. He would absolutely, one hundred percent lose any contest with the Marshal that involved measuring ... well, _anything_ , and even a man of his admittedly stunted maturity could admit it.

(Across the aisle, Becket winked at his sudden silence and flashed him a consoling thumbs-up.)

There was also the added indignity of not being allowed to wash himself, which he was usually trusted to do. Oh no, this time there were several technicians in full protective gear, making sure that every single inch of him was scrubbed thoroughly, multiple times over. He was reasonably certain that he had never been so clean in his entire life.  At least Mako didn't have to share a locker room.

“Probably for the best,” Becket had murmured as they were being peeled out of their drift suits (also bound for a thorough decontamination, albeit a less intimate one) and the techs began to explain the _sheer unpleasantness_ about to follow. “I don’t know about you, but I’d probably pass out on the floor of the shower if they left me alone in there.”

His only comfort throughout the whole miserable process was watching the two science weirdos get dragged into decontamination, too.  Granted, they didn't need to be checked for radiation poisoning, but there had lots and _lots_ of Kaiju Blue exposure without the benefit of any protective gear, so into the Shower of Shame they went.  

The results were _fucking hilarious_.

Math Weirdo hadn't offered a peep of protest when the Old Man gave the orders, because _ew ew ew kaiju bits._ His main concern was that the showers wouldn't be _enough_ , and was seriously considering setting fire to his hair, just to be sure. The little "I am so beyond grossed out it isn't even funny" dance as he tried to get out of his sodden and disgusting clothes just put the cherry on top of the cake.

Twitchy Glasses Weirdo, on the other hand, had to be hauled into decon kicking and screaming, and didn't stop protesting until faced with the choice between closing his mouth or drowning under the shower head. It was very clear that he found the process completely unnecessary (“I spend all day handling kaiju specimens, guys, I don’t need to be here!”) and more than a little humiliating.  Preaching to the choir there, buddy, but them's the breaks when you come THIS CLOSE to being eaten by a baby kaiju.

“What’s next, shaving and delousing?” Chuck couldn’t help but ask when they finally turned the water off and gave him a sandpaper-y towel that reeked of bleach. “Time to strap me into a Cone of Shame?”

He got a flat, unimpressed stare from the apparent leader of the Hazmat-suited goon squad for his troubles.

“No, sir, but only because hair loss is a symptom of radiation poisoning, and a shaved head would make it harder to detect. We’ll be monitoring you closely for the next several weeks.”

Dried off and dressed (for a given value of "dressed", anyway), they were all marched along to the Debrief That Would Not End. It _should_ have been totally unnecessary, there were more than enough transcripts and tapes from LOCCENT to tell what was really a very simple story. The suits and ties needed more, apparently.  Of course they did.

Thankfully someone had the sense to have food brought in, and for the first time since Chuck could remember, his father did not jump down his throat for talking with his mouth full.  Saving the world from certain annihilation got you a pass on table manners, apparently.

The Marshal, the Old Man, and Tendo did most of the talking, with the others only filling necessary details when called upon. Occasionally, Math Science Weirdo would slap a discreet hand over the mouth of Twitchy Science Weirdo and stop him from oversharing. The rules had been temporarily relaxed to allow Max into the conference room, and his stupid dog was flopped over his feet, drooling on his shoes and panting away.

It helped … a little.

Debrief finally over, everyone _else_ was dismissed to go and pass out; Chuck and the Marshal were not so lucky.  Science Division wanted additional brain scans after their unorthodox, unsanctioned, and totally-should-NOT-have-worked-but-somehow-DID Drift. On paper, they _never_ would have matched up, and Chuck still wasn’t sure how neither of them were bleeding from their eyeballs.  Sci-Div wasn't either, and unfortunately they couldn't exactly quantify the sheer unadulterated badassitude that had made the Marshal's "carry nothing into the Drift" technique possible.  No one else could have done it, that was for sure.

This didn't stop the neural bridge guys and drift experts from trying to catch a cloud and pin it down, as it were, babbling about reworking ALL the profiles and pairing algorithms; Chuck understood about one word in ten. Max wasn’t allowed back here, so after the debriefing wrapped up the Old Man took him for a quick walk, with a promise to leave him back in quarters.

At least the scans and cognitive tests were less invasive than showering with four other men while having a crowd of strangers washing his junk. Long, boring, and pointless, but still, not the low point of his day.

By the time Sci Div finally, _finally_ set him free to go find the nearest horizontal surface, he’d gotten his second (third? fifth? tenth? who’s counting anymore? Certainly not him) wind, and adrenaline was once again thrumming under his skin. There’s a 99% chance he won’t be able to sleep, despite being almost dizzy with exhaustion, and will instead spend hours lying awake, either staring at the ceiling or having unpleasant images dance against the inside of his eyelids. 

In short, it had been one hell of a day, and he should be forgiven for the initial lapse of observation when he made it back to quarters. After all, his hands were shaking so badly, it took him three tries to key open his door, so no one could really blame him for missing the obvious.

Door finally open, he let it slam shut behind him and powered blindly towards the tiny en suite, shedding the horrible itchy decontamination scrubs as he went. His mind didn't fully register what his eyes had caught until he was down to his underwear and halfway through brushing his teeth.

Toothbrush dangling from a mouth full of foam, he turned and saw it. 

Saw _them_ , rather.

Mako Mori perched cross-legged at the foot of his bed, dressed more casually than he’d ever seen her, even in the Kwoon: shorts and an over-sized t-shirt that almost certainly did not belong to her. Max was flopped down beside her instead of snoozing away in his doggie basket, head draped over her thigh. He gazed adoringly up at her as she scritched behind his ears.

Meanwhile, an equally underdressed Raleigh Becket stood by the head of the bed, carefully arranging … _wow_ , almost an obscene amount of pillows.

Chuck did not own that many pillows. He did not know there were that many pillows on the entire Shatterdome. It’s possible there aren’t that many pillows in all of Hong Kong.  Yet here there are, on his bed.

“What … why … _how?”_ Then he had to turn away, spit and rinse before he sprayed toothpaste all over the floor.

Raleigh grinned lazily, plumping one particularly overstuffed and hideous specimen in eye-watering shades of green and purple. It looked ludicrously fuzzy and comfortable.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” Chuck hadn’t even realized that it was hanging open.

He shut his mouth with a sharp click of teeth, reacting to the command automatically. Then he blinked several times, hoping to clear his vision, because this _had_ to be a hallucination. It couldn’t be anything else. Raleigh Becket did not break into his room while wearing a ratty tank top and threadbare plaid pajama pants, and he certainly couldn’t be rummaging in his closet.

_THWAP._

A soft bundle of fabric smacked him in the face, interrupting his train of thought; apparently Raleigh had unearthed his favorite pair of sweatpants, grey and worn with holes in the knees.

“Hurry up and get changed,” Mako added, as Max the Traitor whuffled with satisfaction. “You have to be at least as tired as we are.”

Chuck could only stare blankly at her, clutching the sweatpants to his chest as possibly the only tangible constant in the universe right now.

“…what.”

One of Raleigh’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline.

“Is he always this dense, or is it just me?” Mako shrugged noncommittally, as much as she could without disturbing Max.

So, apparently there were no actual answers forthcoming. For lack of anything better to do, and because he felt awkward still standing around in nothing but his boxers, Chuck stepped into the sweatpants and pulled them up.

“Seriously, _why are you here?”_

Raleigh’s other eyebrow shot up, and he exchanged a significant look with Mako that Chuck had absolutely no hope of interpreting. She nodded, and hopped up to begin turning down the covers (earning a dismayed whine from Max at the loss of her ear-scritches and belly-rubs). Raleigh scooped up the protesting dog and set him gently on the floor, nudging him in the direction of the doggie basket with a soft pat.

“Did you … did you two break in here to … I dunno, tuck me in and read me a bedtime story? Did the old man put you up to thisssss _whoa personal space!”_ His voice shot up an octave or two as Raleigh took two long strides forward and wrapped his hands around Chuck’s biceps.

“Your father had nothing to do with this, although we did get his approval first.” Raleigh’s mouth was still twisted with amusement, and Chuck was uncomfortably aware of how close they are: almost nose-to-nose, Raleigh’s palms hot on his bare skin.

“Approval for _what_?”

His answer was not in words; instead, Raleigh spun him around and forced him into motion. Chuck stumbled back a few steps until his calves hit the side of the bed, and he sat down hard, mattress bouncing slightly beneath him. Raleigh stood looming over him, arms crossed and head cocked to the side expectantly as he flicked his fingers in a little _hurry up_ gesture.

Clearly, he was supposed to settle into bed and get comfortable, so he did, only slightly gratified to discover that the green and purple monstrosity was even softer and more decadent than it looked. Leaning back against the veritable mountain of pillows, he looked up at Raleigh, _happy now?_

Apparently he was not happy with just putting Chuck to bed; no, Raleigh had to join him there, flopping down to sprawl on top of him and knocking all of the air out of his lungs in the process.

“This … this isn’t weird _at all_ ,” Chuck ground out between clenched teeth, once he could finally breathe again. He wriggled slightly, testing the dead weight now pinning him down, but any sort of a struggle was probably an exercise in futility. Especially considering how their last altercation had gone.

The lights flicked off one by one, and Chuck startled, having momentarily forgotten that they were not alone.

Mako hummed thoughtfully as she slipped into bed on his other side, pulling the covers up over all three of them as she did. 

“You know, I really thought he’d fight us a lot harder on this,” she murmured, curling up against Chuck’s side and tucking her head underneath his chin. Lifting his head up from Chuck’s shoulder, Raleigh winked at both of them, and the vibration of that silent laughter shook Chuck all the way down to his toes.

“I did too, to be perfectly honest.” 

Still squirming, Chuck opened his mouth to protest, because this whole situation was really unexpected, and made him not a little self-conscious.

(He would never admit that it also felt surprisingly … natural.)

Before he could get more than a syllable or two out, though, Raleigh raised a hand and pressed his thumb to Chuck’s lips, effectively silencing him. 

“Shhhh, puppy.” Chuck bristled at implied endearment, but then Raleigh’s hand curved around his jaw to the back of his neck, fingertips finding the one spot that no amount of stretching or hot water could ever seem to unknot. “Shhhhhhh. The Breach is sealed, the world is saved, and somehow we all lived to tell about it. Just relax.”

Suiting her actions to Raleigh’s words, Mako nestled a little closer into his side and sighed deeply, throwing one leg over his and resting her hand on his bare chest. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Chuck could feel the faint brush of her eyelashes against his skin. Meanwhile, Raleigh radiated heat like a furnace, draped over him like another blanket, and Chuck had no choice but to sink down into it. Tension he didn’t even know he’d been carrying bled away, pressed out him by the combined weight and warmth of his companions.

“Shhhh. Sleep, puppy. There you go.”

It was invisible in the darkness, but he just _knew_ that the curl of lips against his shoulder was Raleigh’s smuggest and most unbearable smile. Alas, Chuck didn’t have time to plot more than the barest outlines of revenge before sleep rose up and claimed him.


End file.
